Racheakt: Enquiry
by The Narrator
Summary: AUdoujinbased. Written version of a future chapter of my doujinshi, Racheakt. Zuko is visited by a face from the past and is forced to listen to some very difficult questions...


**Comments**: AU-doujin-based. Written version of a future chapter of my doujinshi, _**Racheakt**_ (link in my profile). Given that I've been having so much trouble with my computer and that I'll be very busy with my master's thesis, this chapter might not ever be drawn out, though I would like very much to.

* * *

**_To Inquire..._**

Bidding "good night" to Mai, Zuko returned to his northeast corner room to find the Blue Spirit waiting for him. _'That's not…!'_ Zuko unsheathed his twin dao, leveling the left at the interloper.

"Where did you get that mask?" he demanded, instinctively staring into the empty eyeholes.

The blue-and-white lacquered face tilted to one side, moonlight spilling through the eastern window glancing off the curve of cheek and eye-socket and point of horn and fang. The graven grin seemed to spread wider, as though the mask itself were amused by its erstwhile owner's bewilderment.

That was impossible, of course - it was just a mask: polished resin, paint, and wood. It had no more "spirit" than a chair or piece of clothing. All the same, Zuko felt the hairs on his forearms and the back of his head prick and a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Who are you? Where did you get that mask?!" he bit out again, this time consciously addressing the near-shapeless, shadow-cloaked form that wore his former visage.

Instead of answering, the intruder turned his back on Zuko, deliberately pacing toward the window that held the rising half-moon on silent feet. As he mounted the high sill, he half-turned; the gesture was all at once mocking and expectant:

"You coming? Or are you afraid of spirits?" Zuko could almost hear the words – in his mind, the mask spoke in harsh, sibilant whispers.

Without waiting for a reply, the Blue Spirit leapt out of the window, his dark cloak swinging open like grotesque wings for an instant before he dropped from view.

Zuko shook himself out of his confused daze and rushed to the window, staring out across the wide empty courtyard and the high wall beyond, half expecting to see the Blue Spirit flying over it.

A movement on the green glazed tiles of the roof just below his window recalled him to reality (and sanity). The Blue Spirit, a column of shadow standing at the roof's edge in the bright moonlight, gazed up at him. Again, Zuko clearly sensed that the mask (… no, the person _wearing_ it!) was mocking him for his hesitation.

"This is some sort of trick or trap," he muttered to himself, glaring at the insolent trespasser. All the same, he sheathed his swords and climbed out of the window, dropping easily and silently onto the roof.

As soon as his feet touched the tiles, the Blue Spirit (Zuko was rather annoyed that he kept applying that title to the assailant) stepped backwards off the roof, as though the twenty-foot drop to the courtyard below was a matter of little consequence. Zuko followed more cautiously – though no one had yet raised the alarm, in and of itself rather eerie, he did not trust his luck (such as it was!) to keep him invisible or invulnerable.

The Blue Spirit waited patiently as Zuko swung himself over the edge of the roof, using the elaborately carved bracket as a temporary handhold to reach the supporting column beneath, shinnying down the polished wood and landing with no more noise than the drawing of a breath.

"I'm not going any further until you…" Zuko began, but the Blue Spirit had already turned away, this time sprinting across the open, moon-bright expanse of courtyard toward the postern in the far wall that lead to the central palace complex.

Cursing the Blue Spirit, the moon, over-sized Earth Kingdom architecture, and himself, Zuko gave chase, scuttling from one shadow to the next like a scorpion snake under a high noon sun until he reached the night-shrouded postern. The thick iron door was supposed to be locked and guarded at all times, but Zuko found it swung open invitingly (ominously) wide.

There was no sign of the guard or the Blue Spirit, but Zuko could swear he caught the faintest metallic whiff of blood on the breeze that flowed out of the portico like the breath from some monstrous maw.

A wise and cautious man would have abandoned the chase at this point and sounded the alarm. _'But since when was I ever the cautious type?_' Zuko riposted mentally. Dread and common sense warred with anger and excitement – was he chasing a spirit, a ghost he had cast off, or was his adversary flesh and blood, an assassin or an ally?

Zuko pretended to weigh his options rationally, entertaining an internal debate, when he knew that his course had been decided the moment he had set eyes upon that familiar demonic face. In a sop to his more rational mind, he once more unsheathed his swords. Any firebending around the palace grounds would certainly catch the Dai-li's attention, and this hunt would end before he got any answers.

Zuko stepped through the opened gate.

Beyond was a lightless passageway, short enough that he could see a rectangle of moonlight like the page of a book at the far end. No sign of the Blue Spirit. Zuko ran down the length, emerging from the corridor with the flights of stairs leading up to the massive central hall on his right, the flight leading down to the colonnaded parade ground and the main gate far in the distance on his left.

The Blue Spirit had already descended one or two steps and greeted his emergence with a shrug. "Had our little mental chat, have we? Glad you could join me," Zuko again heard the mocking whisper and gritted his teeth.

"Tell me who you are," he ordered lowly.

The Blue Spirit shrugged again and began walking down the steps as though he had all the time in the world. Zuko darted after him, his temper piqued to near boiling point, but the Blue Spirit apparently had a sixth sense (or extraordinarily good hearing) – he burst into a sprint of his own. Not caring at this point who saw or heard, Zuko sheathed his swords and flung himself down the steps after his quarry, not bothering to stick to the shadows. Reaching the bottom, the Blue Spirit easily leapt the moat, ignoring the bridge – Zuko swallowed his pride and took the more sensible route. The Blue Spirit swerved to the northeast, running headlong in the direction of some derelict storehouses and an armory and the opposing wing of the palace. Heedlessly, Zuko followed, though a small part of his brain voiced trepidation at the fact that the ever-watchful Dai-li had yet to make an appearance. Straining every muscle, Zuko sought to close the distance that separated them as stone-flagged courtyards and impassive imposing edifices, etched in shadow and moonlight, flashed past in his peripheral vision. As the race went on, it dawned on Zuko that the Blue Spirit, or rather, the person wearing the mask, was just toying with him, deliberately keeping the same distance between them no matter how much faster Zuko pushed himself in pursuit. Spurred by anger and pride, Zuko pulled on reserves of speed and endurance he did not know he possessed.

Agni-knew how long the chase went on, wending through the labyrinth that was the heart of the Earth Kingdom, until they reached a remote sector of the palace grounds that nevertheless stirred a sense of recognition in Zuko. Just as he struggled to connect memory to place, the Blue Spirit vanished, as if the earth itself had swallowed him. Zuko jerked to halt in surprise. Gulping air and trying to steady his racing heart, Zuko swept his sweat-soaked bangs from his eyes and stared at the spot where he had last seen the masked figure.

Immediately, the cause of the disappearance became clear and it was anything less than supernatural. A hole in the ground as wide as he was tall, too perfectly circular to be natural, yawned pitch-black at his feet.

No, not quite pitch-black; Zuko detected a faint, familiar green glow emanating from whatever space was below.

'_It can't be…_' Glancing around, Zuko confirmed his suspicions – this was where Azula's Dai-li minions had taken him after Iroh's escape and his capture. The actual entrance was some yards away, looking little more than a badger-mole's hill in the moonlight. Someone (the Blue Spirit?) had carved this new entrance down into the crystal catacombs especially for him. And doubtless, the Blue Spirit waited there.

'_Uncle had a saying about this, didn't he? Something about spiders and parlors and flies?'_ But thinking about Iroh only made his gut clench – Zuko shook his head. Below his feet, the Blue Spirit waited, in the crystallized ruins of ancient Ba Sing Se, where he had spoken with the Water Tribe girl, fought the Avatar, and betrayed his uncle.

'_Well, you knew you would have to come back here, sooner or later,'_ he told himself sardonically. With a dark chuckle, he descended into the green-limned twilight.

Prepared for, even expecting an attack, Zuko landed in a skillful tumble that enabled him to draw his swords in one fluid motion to parry any assault. Rather disappointingly, nothing happened and Zuko regained his footing, swords at the ready as he scanned the crystal-populated chamber. The jade light of the crystals was brighter even than the moonlight above (brighter than he remembered); he had to blink several times until his eyes adjusted.

The Blue Spirit, ever patient, ever mocking, crouched atop a melted jumble of crystal that Zuko recognized oh-too-well.

"All right, I've palyed your little game of chase," he snarled, ignoring the grave echoes of Iroh's last counsel that sounded in his ears even as he spoke, "Who are you? Why are you wearing that mask?"

In all honesty, he did not expect an answer – that would have been far too simple from a denizen of the Spirit World.

The mask clattered to the ground, skidding to a stop at his feet, its empty eye-sockets and mouth revealing that it indeed was nothing more than painted wood.

"For someone who threw that away, you're awfully possessive of it," a low voice observed scornfully.

Zuko started, his attention diverted from the meaningless mask to the voice's owner.

"Wha-what are you?" he managed, his voice a dry thread of nonsensical sound in his ears. For crouched on that twisted mass of crystal, there was a monster.

A serpentine mark like the tracks of wept blood ran down its pallid right cheek. Its mouth was stretched in a horrifying leer that exposed fangs more fearsome than those carved in the mask that had hidden them. And its eyes… at the sight of them, Zuko felt his inner fire go cold and hard as a lump of coal. Dead white irises floated in sockets of pitch, and yet… Zuko could _feel_ the cunning evil within them.

The monster chuckled – an entirely human sound that made it all the more unsettling for its urbaneness. "You don't recognize me, do you?" it asked. Something in the inflection, the tone – Zuko knew it from somewhere, but how…? "That's kinda insulting, but I suppose I understand – I barely recognized _you_ in that get-up. Maybe these will help you remember?"

So saying, the monster leapt from its perch, its cloak falling from its shoulders. Twin blades, so very different from Zuko's own, materialized in its taloned hands, gleaming in the crystal-light.

There was no mistaking them. "Jet…?" Zuko asked in disbelief.

"Oh, you do remember – it's rather flattering for an Earth Kingdom peasant like me to be remembered by someone like the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. Then again," the thing that claimed to be Jet paused, considering, "I'm not so much an Earth Kingdom peasant anymore, just like you're not so much the Crown Prince, huh?"

Zuko, still in the grips of shock, let the barb slide. "Is this a dream?" he asked, bewildered, "What happened to you?"

"This and that – long story, kinda boring," answered Jet with a shrug and a smirk, "But no – this isn't a dream. Matter of fact…"

Zuko blinked – Jet had vanished.

"… this is a very real matter of life and death," Jet finished, bringing down the spear-headed pommel of his right hook-sword on the back of Zuko's neck. Zuko dove out of the way, feeling the collar of his tunic tear as the barest razor edge sliced through it.

"You brought me out all this way just to kill me?!" he demanded, righteous anger (mercifully) replacing dulling fear.

"Not 'just' kill you, but yeah, I planned to get around to that eventually," Jet replied conversationally, not bothering to follow up on his initial attack, "You see, we never really finished that fight before – you didn't use fire, and I wouldn't have messed around trying to expose you if had known you really were. Here you're free to use your firebending however much you want."

Zuko shook his head incredulously. "I have no reason to fight you – all I want to know is what the hell you're doing here and why you have my mask!" _'And why you look like a resurrected corpse.'_

"_Your_ mask?" Jet echoed, hooting derisively. He bent down and picked up the object in question. "As I recall, the old man told you this was a part of your past you should throw away, which you did. What does it matter that a monster hides his face behind a painted demon's?" He raised the mask to his face so that half remained uncovered, his single opalescent eye staring back at Zuko.

"What happened to you?" Zuko repeated in frustration, not liking the way Jet was turning the conversation into a game of riddles.

"Let's just say… I'm not the completely person I used to be," Jet said, suddenly unsmiling and deadly serious, tossing the mask to one side, "I have my own questions, Prince Zuko, and I'll have them answered before I'm finished with you."

"You make it sound like killing me is something easy," Zuko sneered, rage and fire pounding through his blood.

"Not easy, no – _fun_, yes, most definitely," replied Jet, "No holding back this time."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Zuko attacked first, a simple, flameless double overhead strike that Jet parried, slipping out of Zuko's _mai_.

"Your new life is treating you well, I see," Jet observed, diverting Zuko's center thrust with the crescent crossguard of his left hook-sword and stepping to one side to avoid the follow-on slash. "At least you're no longer _dressed_ like a ragged refugee." To accent his point, Jet used his right hook to tear a rent across the front of Zuko's tunic. "Silk, right?"

Zuko growled and unleashed his first fire attack, a wave of flame swinging up into Jet's face, which his opponent avoided by leaping back just in time.

"At least I'm not decked out like a corpse for a funeral," he spat, "A _peasant's _funeral, at that."

"Ah, hm…" Jet glanced down at his ragged white hakama and the body wrappings that floated about him like trailing shrouds, "Can't really help that bit."

Zuko knew there was something inherently wrong in that statement, but he did not have the time or inclination to puzzle it out. The fight had gone to his head. Perhaps it was Jet's mockery, perhaps it was the place – more likely, it was the weeks of Azula's smug, satisfied preening and the knowledge that he had subjugated himself _willingly_ to her for a false hope and betrayed the only person in the world who gave a damn about him in the process. He pressed the attack, unleashing an onslaught of steel and flame that gave Jet no opening to counterattack, until…

Jet broke away, leaping well beyond the range even of Zuko's firebending. "You've really improved," he remarked, surprisingly unsarcastic, "Well, at least that's one thing the old man can take pride in. Truth be told, I not sure if I believe what he told me about you."

Zuko checked himself. "You've spoken with Uncle Iroh?" he gasped, knowing that Jet could be lying, that this could just be a distraction tactic. But if… dread certainty took hold. "What have you done to him!?"

Jet grinned, met Zuko's next haphazard attack, parried, and escaped again. "Nothing worse than what you've already done to him. Granted, that would include sticking a dagger in his back…"

"**_SHUTUP!!!"_** Zuko was beyond reason now, all cool and logic thrown on the flames fed by anger and hate. All that mattered was that Jet answer, that he be blotted out, that his mocking words would no longer cut to the very heart of Zuko's own self-loathing.

The crystal chamber exploded in searing white-hot flame.

Nearly spent, Zuko drew his shuddering limbs into stillness as the fires dissipated. All around him, crystal slag hardened and cooled, splintering in some cases in the barely breathable air. Where Jet had stood, nothing remained excepted smoking rock.

"Impressive – but you can't kill me. Yet," a soft voice sounded almost regretfully in his ear.

Zuko whirled, sword swinging up… an iron hand crushed around his windpipe, launching him bodily into the air, his flight brought to a crashing halt by a scorching hot wall of half-melted crystal. Zuko screamed in agony and rolled away, losing his grip on his swords in the process.

Before he could recover his weapons, his footing, his senses, he was hauled up into the air once again by a single hand around his throat.

Through the haze of pain and loss of air, Zuko gaped helplessly into the merciless bone-white gaze that glared up at him. "Playtime's over, your Highness," Jet informed him simply, ignoring Zuko's feeble attempts to kick free, to dislodge his choking hold. "As you are now, you can't kill me – I've confirmed that. That was the second reason for me bringing you to this place."

'_I… I can't firebend!'_ Zuko realized in panic, feeling an odd sense of dislocation that had nothing to do with his steadily decreasing supply of oxygen.

"You won't be able to firebend for some time – you see, my spirit is so polluted that if a normal person touched me, they would die very quickly. For benders, since your abilities are tied to your spiritual well-being… well, let's just say you'd better listen up if you don't want this to be permanent."

Zuko worked his lips into a defiant sneer, which Jet ignored. "Tell me, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, son of Firelord Ozai and Lady Ursa, why did you betray your uncle? Why would you aid in killing the Avatar? For glory? For power? For _honor_?" In a gesture of apparent disgust, Jet released Zuko, who collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

"Tell me _why_ you want to be Firelord," Jet continued mercilessly, crouching down and hauling Zuko up by the front of his torn tunic, "Will you end this war? Or will you carry it on, crushing those who resist you, until your hands are as bloodstained as your ancestors? What makes _you_ so deserving of power? What makes you so deserving of _honor_? _Why are you doing this?!"_

Zuko wheezed, fighting the rushing tide of darkness that was pulling him further from Jet's voice, from anger, from hate, from pain.

"I expect an answer when next we meet," Jet whispered to him, "For now, sleep, dream – you are not yet among the damned."

The dark claimed Zuko and he heard, felt, saw nothing more….

* * *

"You did not kill him," the Shadow observed. 

The Spirit grunted noncommittally in response.

"Why not? He is the son of the man whose nation killed your family, and set you on this dark path."

"He is… different. To kill him now would be merciful – now, he is as I was, and death would be an escape. When he has something to lose… then I will kill him."

"You lie."

"Perhaps."

The Shadow remained silent for some time. "In truth," it began again, "he still has a part to play…"

"And questions to answer…"

_(to be continued...)_

* * *

A/N: Essentially, Jet asks all the questions I want to ask pertaining to Zuko's actions in the Season 2 finale. One of the reasons I find Zuko's attitude so hard to swallow is that I'm verrrrry suspicious of those who claim power is their "right" - why, exactly, does Zuko want to be Firelord? What justification does he have? 

Jetko fans, read whatever you want into this... :D

P.S. - Really recommend reading my doujin to get an idea as to what's going on in the final dialogue.


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